


lust murder

by akingnotaprincess



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Dark, Dark Malcolm Bright, Face-Fucking, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Murder Family, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingnotaprincess/pseuds/akingnotaprincess
Summary: AU where Martin was never caught and he and Malcolm commit murders together.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45
Collections: Prodigal Son Holidays Fic Exchange





	lust murder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spoonzi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoonzi/gifts).



Grabbing him by his lapels, Malcolm pulls his father forwards and crashes their lips together in a bruising kiss. It's messy and without finesse, but at this moment Malcolm doesn't care. A rush of adrenaline is flowing through him and he needs his father _now._ He runs his bloody fingers through his father's curly salt and pepper hair. His father is likely is chatsie him later for behaving so sloppy and amateur.

After all, they have done this twenty-three times. Twenty-three murders committed. Twenty-three murders and have never been caught. Twenty-three murders that have brought them closer together than what is appropriate for father and son. Twenty-three murders and Malcolm has never done _this._

"I need you," He says against his father's mouth—ghosting his lips. "I want to blow you."

His father chuckles into the kiss. "This is new. I wonder what's gotten into you."

"Not _you_ obviously."

"I never pinned you to do something so sexually deviant." 

"Other than incest."

"Yes, other than that."

His father isn't wrong though. Only a few hours ago they abducted a college student who was hitchhiking on a lonely stretch of highway because their car had run out of gas. Only a few hours ago Martin Whitly, one of the most famous heart surgeons in the world, and his son, a FBI profiler, murdered them with a special cocktail of drugs they were experimenting with (the Quartet, the media called it). A few hours ago Malcolm started his part of their work. His father murdered their victims and Malcolm took an axe and chopped up the body into tiny pieces. 

Their latest victim lay in pieces on the floor, the blood that spilled during the dismemberment covered both of their clothing from head to toe. He's not sure what did come over him. He's not sure why he became aroused at the sight of his father's disheveled appearance—so unlike the picture perfect persona of Doctor Martin Whitly.

When they have combined sex with their work in the past, but it's always been afterwards at some dirty motel or back in apartment that his mother doesn't know that his father rents.

Malcolm walks his father backwards until his back hits the wall—the _thud_ echoes around the long abandoned asylum. He runs the tips of his fingers down his father's face—his neck—trailing them down until he reaches his belt and quickly does work on opening the nice pressed slacks and pulling out his father's cock. 

"Aren't we impatient?" His father's voice is steady under Malcolm's languid strokes. "And so bold of you, my boy."

Malcolm doesn't say a word as he shucks off his tailored jacket and drops to his knees. His eyes gaze up at his father's dark and foreboding irises. He waits for some sort of sign from his father that he can start. It seems like an eternity that they've locked eyes—Malcolm's eyes start to water.

"You know what I want to hear." An order that is laced with a promise—what sort of promise Malcolm is not sure.

"Please," he begs, voice trembling. "Please daddy, can I suck your cock?"

"Your manners are impeccable. Yes, you may."

Malcolm swallows his father's cock down to the root—hitting the back of his throat and triggering his gag reflex. He coughs and gasps, but doesn't move. 

His father digs his surgeon's fingers through his hair and takes control of Malcolm's movements—how shallow—how deep—how gentle—how _rough._ He doesn't stop talking the entire time that he face fucks his son. "Oh my boy, I'm so proud of you. So proud. The way you wield your axe is practically elegant. It's your art, Mal. It's what you were born to do. You were made to be with me, Mal. You're so beautiful. I'm so proud, my boy. Mal, fuck, _fuck,_ Mal. My boy—"

Malcolm moans around his father's length as cum floods his mouth and throat and he swallows it all down. Martin hastily pulls him up to his feet and jerks off Malcolm with quick and hard—squeezing the base of his cock and fondling his balls until Malcolm screams into his father's shoulder as he comes. 

They stand there for a long time— breathing in each other's scents and coming down from the high.

His father kisses Malcolm's temple and whispers, "Come on boy, we have a lot of cleaning up to do."


End file.
